


(too much) love can be a poison

by writing_addict



Series: to the people who look up at the stars and wish [2]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: (not that ed knows it yet), Alternate Universe - A Court of Thorns and Roses Fusion, BAMF Winry Rockbell, Canon Temporary Character Death, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Featuring, Hurt Edward Elric, Panic Attacks, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soulmates, The Night Court, The Spring Court (ACoTaR), Trauma, Weddings, and russel tringham as ianthe, but if you haven't and you want to, ed as feyre, it's the WEDDING SCENE, kidnapping (for a cause), lan fan as lucien (im sorry lan fan), rose as tamlin (im sorry rose), then i have pdfs!, wedding crashing, winry as rhysand, you will probably need to read a court of mist and fury to understand this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24356086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_addict/pseuds/writing_addict
Summary: Rose took a step forward, eyes glowing with concern—and Ed stumbled back a step, that thing clawing at his veins screeching and howling and screaming to get out.No.Her mouth tightened, the courtiers gasped, and Ed hated himself—hatedhimself as Russel said, voice clear and smooth as a river, “Step forward, Cursebreaker, and be joined with your High Lady. Come forward and let good triumph at last.”Good.Ed nearly laughed, nearly cried. He was not good, he was a horrible, evil creature, and his soul, his immortal soul wasdamned, damned, damned.He tried to force in a breath, tried to make himself say the words and end all this—no—no—But he didn’t have to say it.Or:Edward Elric solved the riddle of the wicked fae king, freeing the seven fae Courts from his curse, and was brought back to life in the form of High Fae. Now, today, he's about to marry his High Lady, ruler of the Spring Court and the person he went down into that court Under-the-Mountain for. His true love.Everything is perfect. Except it isn't.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Rosé Thomas, Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell
Series: to the people who look up at the stars and wish [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1741414
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	(too much) love can be a poison

**Author's Note:**

> part two of the acotar au i'm writing for no other reason than im bored, it's quarantine, and I want to write all the feysand moments as edwin moments and no one can stop me. so, if you haven't read acotar/acomaf, you probably won't understand this fic--but as the tags say, if you haven't read them and you'd like to, i have pdfs!
> 
> acomaf is obviously very heavily referenced, seeing as it's literally fma characters in a prythian-like setting. characters are also slightly ooc because of their different backgrounds and traumas. i know i should have started with more acotar scenes but i had to go for The Best (one of the best, anyways) feysand scene: the one where he snatches feyre on her wedding day (but for good reason, don't worry!)
> 
> if you HAVE read acomaf and the one-shot before this one, welcome back! i'm having loads of fun with this so far, and i hope you enjoy this!
> 
> Notable Cast (Thus Far)  
> Ed: Feyre  
> Winry: Rhysand  
> Rose: Tamlin  
> Lan Fan: Lucien  
> Russel: Ianthe

_You’re supposed to feel happy at your own wedding, aren’t you?_

_You’re supposed to feel…good. Like everything is perfect. Like it’s—right._

But it wasn’t right. He couldn’t—Ed couldn’t _breathe_ , and he didn’t know why. Even with Rose waiting for him at the end of the aisle, even with her ring on his finger and the promise of happily-ever-after so, so very close. Even after Under-the-Mountain, after dying and coming back, after being Made into High Fae, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

 _Something_ is _wrong._

And it was him.

He was the piece that didn’t fit—not anymore. He was—he was wearing _white._ Wearing this horrible suit with puffy sleeves and a ridiculous cape and silk gloves that the High Priest had picked out, insisting that it was perfect, that it would send a message: that he was Edward Elric, Cursebreaker. Holy. Beloved by the High Lady of Spring. It would show the world that he was something pure and beautiful and innocent ( _I’m not, I’m not, I’m not),_ that good had won and the Fae Lands were free because of him. Because of the Spring Court.

But he wasn’t good. He wasn’t pure, he wasn’t innocent, he wasn’t beautiful. He had—he had killed two innocent people in cold blood. Not to survive, but to get something he _wanted._ To get to Rose. He had _killed them,_ and saved the seven Courts of the High Fae, and damned himself in the process. _Evil, wicked thing. Monster. Dark-heart._ He couldn’t escape the words, couldn’t escape the stares, couldn’t escape the grounds of the house that was supposed to be _home._ He was trapped.

Trapped, with nothing but his own damned, evil soul for company, with nothing to do but beg his High Lady to be let out of the house ( _like a dog, a pet,_ some uncharitable part of him hissed, but he pushed it down—Rose was overprotective, yes, possessive, yes, but he’d _died_ in front of her, he could excuse it for a little longer, put up with it for a little longer) and bow his head obediently when she said no. When she said to go paint (even though he hadn’t since Under-the-Mountain) or read (even though he couldn’t, and she _knew_ he couldn’t) or talk to Russel (who seemed friendly, but whose honeyed voice made that still-human instinct of his balk with fear). With no one to comfort him when the dreams came back, and he saw the two faeries he had killed and heard Envy laughing and—

His hands curled more tightly around the wreath of green he was clutching—curled as his right hand tingled, and he could almost _see_ the tattoo through it, the mark of a fool’s bargain he’d made with the High Lady of the Night Court. See the dark ink twining across too-pale skin, see the eye in the center of his palm, the one that almost seemed to wink at him. And he swore he could hear the monster’s voice, feel those deceptively dainty hands on his shoulders, see those starlight-blue eyes flashing with cold amusement— _“One week every month,”_ she’d purred, _“If I heal you and help you through these trials.”_

He’d said yes, and the tattoo had formed, and she’d laughed softly—and he’d _hated_ her, hated that High Lady for what she’d done even as he relied on her aid to defeat Envy, even though she’d screamed his name when he’d been dying, screamed it like she’d cared and thrown herself at the false king with nothing but an ash-wood dagger. She hadn’t called that bargain in, yet, and he clung to her words to him after she’d helped bring him back to life: _“This makes us even.”_

But the tattoo of the bargain was still there, and he knew—he _knew_ she would come. That he was tainted by the Night Court now as well as his own great sin.

“Come, Cursebreaker, and be joined with your true love at last.”

He choked at Russel’s words, forcing himself out of the thoughts, clutching the green wreath as he made his legs move. He tried to ignore the eyes of the courtiers on him, so many that he didn’t know, and those he did eyeing him with pity and disdain as he forced himself to walk. So many people at this wedding that was supposed to be his, and yet he only cared about a handful. So many people, and none of them were really there for _him_.

 _But she is,_ that small, shining voice whispered, the one that made him stay, made him believe everything was okay, and he lifted his eyes to his bride’s. To Rose—Rose, resplendent in a gown of green and gold, a circlet of rose gold and emeralds and amber resting on her brow. Glowing with power, with joy, with happiness. With love.

_Love._

He loved her—more than anything. It was alright if he had to put his happiness aside to keep _her_ happy, to keep that light in her eyes. Looking at her gave him the strength to walk forward, to the altar, to his future, over a carpet of white silk on green grass scattered with rose petals—

Red.

Red, like drops of blood on pure white.

Red, like the blood of those innocent fae, as it pooled beneath his feet. As their lives faded at his hands—killed, murdered, for the amusement of the would-be king and a broken human who was too selfish to let them live.

Ten steps from the altar, he stopped. Froze. Couldn’t _breathe._

Everyone was watching, as his heart pounded too-fast and the world spun and blurred, watched like they had when Envy was killing him, silent and judging—always, always judging, always _mocking,_ watching him hurt and _die._ Watching him now as he struggled to breathe, to move, to do anything but stand here and _drown_ in the blood he’d spilled—the blood that was covering his hands, the blood he knew they could all see, that they all _knew_ was there.

_Monster. Monster. Monster._

Rose extended a hand, those beautiful brown eyes narrowing slightly, and Ed fought the urge to throw up, to scream. To ruin the stupid rose petals and the white silk and the grass and these stupid _shoes_ and—

Something was pounding in his chest, clawing at his veins, and it had to be let out but he couldn’t let it out because then they would all _see,_ they would all know what a monster he was, _but they already knew, what did it matter—_

Too many eyes, there were _too many eyes,_ witnesses to his crimes, to this _humiliation—_

Ed didn’t even know why he’d bothered to wear the gloves. Why he’d let Russel convince him that white silk ( _gods, he hated white silk)_ could cover the blood on his hands, the mark of the Night Court covering his right.

The setting sun seemed to burn on his skin, the hedges closing in on him like walls as he stared up at Rose, frozen like a deer before a hunter’s arrow. He couldn’t escape—couldn’t escape this wedding, couldn’t escape the vow he was about to make, and she wouldn’t be able to escape _him,_ and all the broken pieces his own death had left behind. She was going to be shackled to him, to a monster, to someone who couldn’t even sleep through the _night._

He would never get better—never be free of his own nightmares, of Under-the-Mountain, of Envy, of the dungeon where he’d bled and broken to free all of _this_ —where he’d died for it, crawled and bled so _these people_ could be free, so Rose could be free, but he _wasn’t_ free, he was _damned_ and he would return there every night until his immortal life ended—

Rose’s brow furrowed—pure, beautiful, untainted. Unaware of what she was about to do, of what Ed couldn’t do as the sun slipped over the horizon and the burning turned to a blessed chill that felt… _familiar,_ felt more like _home._ The ringing in his ears receded a bit, just long enough for him to hear her say, _“Ed.”_

A request—a command—but he couldn’t do it, couldn’t take those last few steps, couldn’t, couldn’t, _couldn’t._ But if he turned away, the courtiers would start talking, and he couldn’t move forward, and he was going to fall apart right here for everyone to see—

 _Help me,_ he begged silently, eyes fixed on Lan Fan, the High Lady’s second standing frozen at Rose’s side, metal arm gleaming in the rising moonlight. Begged Russel, standing at the altar, blue eyes gleaming beneath the hood of his cloak, glittering like sapphires ( _and as unforgiving as the unfeeling jewels_ ). Begged someone, _anyone_.

Rose took a step forward, eyes glowing with concern—and Ed stumbled back a step, that thing clawing at his veins screeching and howling and _screaming_ to get out. _No._

Her mouth tightened, the courtiers gasped, and Ed hated himself—hated himself as Russel said, voice clear and smooth as a river, “Step forward, Cursebreaker, and be joined with your High Lady. Come forward and let good triumph at last.”

 _Good._ Ed nearly laughed, nearly cried. He was _not_ good, he was a horrible, evil creature, and his soul, his immortal soul was _damned, damned, damned._

He tried to force in a breath, tried to make himself say the words and end all this— _no—no—_

But he didn’t have to say it.

The sky lit up, lightning crackling across the stars with an almighty crash. Starlight flared higher, brighter, the little floating orbs of light that had come on when night fell winking out as an icy wind whipped through the crowd. People screamed, thunder booming behind him, and he choked on a breath as some outright vanished—and darkness erupted, a low, smooth laugh filling the air.

He knew who he’d see before he even turned around.

Crushing blue eyes fixed on his, gleaming with an unholy, inhuman light as full lips pulled back into a dazzling, deadly smile. The High Lady of the Night Court tipped her head back and breathed in slowly, before her grin turned into something darker.

“Hello, Edward darling,” Winry breathed.

She was here— _she_ was here.

He didn’t know why he was surprised. Winry liked to make a spectacle of everything—and found pissing Rose off to be an art form. Perhaps she’d been waiting for this exact damn day to call in that _stupid_ bargain he’d made with her, just so she could—could do _this._

(Ed knew—he _knew_ what _this_ was, he knew that he was going to be taken to the Night Court—but maybe if he didn’t think it, didn’t say it, it wouldn’t happen. A foolish belief, a _human_ belief, but he clung to it all the same.)

Winry Rockbell tilted her head, the night leaking off her skin like ink into water, the golden orbs of light winking back on and turning silver—as if in response to her presence. Blonde hair so fair it seemed white fell in loose waves down her back, her sweeping gown of ink-black dusted with what seemed like crushed sapphires as she turned toward Rose and Lan Fan—the former with her fingers already forming claws, the latter with the sword of her metal arm already punched out—

And then she raised a hand, and they both froze.

Froze, because of what she was. What she could do.

 _I was the most powerful of the seven High Ladies before Envy stole our powers, Edward,_ he remembered her saying, and he hadn’t quite believed her. _What I am left with is a shadow of what I was before, but it is enough—enough to keep his eyes off of you. As part of our bargain._

But now, with the powers of the High Ladies restored in full, there was no damper on her power—a power that had been strong enough to make him balk on Calanmai, what felt like years ago, what _was_ a year ago. A power that now left him trembling as she angled her head toward Russel, who went sheet-white and started backing away.

“Dear me, I suppose I can cross crashing a wedding off the to-do list,” she murmured after a moment, lips painted shimmering blue pulling back to reveal sharp teeth as what little of the crowd remained winnowed and fled, falling over themselves to escape her.

Those blue eyes flicked to him, and she clicked her tongue with a soft _tsk—_ and that power building under his skin went cold and dead, leaving only the fear behind.

“Get out,” Rose hissed, and he finally found it in himself to move, finally managing to step back, step away from both of them. “ _Now.”_

Winry clicked her tongue again, that amused smile still playing about her mouth. “Oh, I don’t think so. I have a bargain to fulfill with Edward.”

He’d known it would be coming, but his heart still fell anyway. _No—no, not now._

 _But isn’t this what you wanted?_ some small voice whispered—not the familiar one that spoke in honeyed tones, clear and sweet like river water, but one softer and raspier and more… _him. You asked for someone to save you. You said no. And now you have an out._

An out, yes—but to go to the Night Court, to the place Envy had modeled his court Under-the-Mountain after, that place of nightmares and horrors and _torture…_

“You try to break the bargain, and you know what will happen,” Winry went on, her voice a soft purr that rose to a laugh as she saw the crowd tripping over themselves to get away. Her eyes flicked to him, that flickering light between blue and silver going momentarily sharp. “I gave you three months of freedom. You could at least look happy to see me.”

There was so much he could say to that—so many things he wanted to spit in her face, but the fear won out and he dropped his gaze, shaking fingers curling into fists. Before he looked away, he swore her eyes flashed with distaste—

And then _concern._

_But Winry is a monster. She wouldn’t…_

_I’m imagining it._

“I’ll be taking him now,” she said, and he jerked his head up, a scream building in his throat. _No—I can’t, I won’t, I’ll die—_

“Don’t you _dare,”_ Rose was spitting, but the dais behind her was empty of everyone but Lan Fan. The High Priest was gone—along with almost everyone else.

“Oh, _was_ I interrupting? I thought it was over.” Winry’s smile was dripping poison and cold, sweet satisfaction, and Ed _knew_ suddenly, horribly, that she’d known. Through the bargain, through that link of this _bond,_ through whatever magic was between them, she’d known he was about to say no. _Another weapon—you just left her another stupid weapon in her arsenal, you idiot, she’s a mind-reader, she’s a killer, you should be more careful—_ “At least, Edward seemed to think so.”

“Let us finish the ceremony—”

One perfectly manicured eyebrow arched. “With what High Priest?”

Rose went still, her claws easing back into her hands—as if she knew that when she turned around, she’d see Russel gone. That her position was indefensible. That Ed—that he would have to go with her. _No. No, it can’t—I can’t—_ “Winry,” she said, her tone suddenly pleading, and for a moment Ed remembered that they had once been friends, the High Lady of the Spring Court and the High Lady of the Night Court.

The illusion vanished a moment later as Winry, looking infinitely bored, held out a hand to him. “I’m in no mood to bargain, Rose—though I could work it out to my advantage, I’m sure.” Her hand grazed his elbow, and he jolted, flinched harder than he’d meant to. “Let’s go.”

He didn’t move—couldn’t, frozen again. “Rose,” he choked out. _Please. Do something. Anything._

She took a single step toward him, her hands shaking—with fury or fear, he didn’t know. Her gaze slid back to Winry. “Name your price.”

“Still not bargaining,” Winry drawled, linking her arm with his, and Ed wanted to _scream,_ wanted to run, wanted to reach up and punch her in the face and kick and claw and do _something, anything,_ because Rose wasn’t doing _enough._ “Honestly, Rose, you’d think you’d be able to take a hint.”

He couldn’t go there—not so soon after Under-the-Mountain, not to the place people called the _Court of Nightmares._ He wouldn’t _survive,_ not in that place, full of depravity and torture and _death._

“Rose,” he forced out, staring up at her. “ _Please.”_

_Please don’t let her take me there._

Rose stared at him, hands curling and uncurling helplessly, before she whirled to Winry and bared her teeth in a snarl. “If you hurt him—”

“I know, I know,” Winry sighed, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ll return him in a week. Not a scratch, _cross my heart.”_

No—no, she couldn’t be making those kinds of threats, not when they meant she was _letting him go._ He tried to speak and couldn’t, tried to breathe and couldn’t, but it had nothing to do with Winry’s power and everything to do with his own stupid _fear._

Winry released his elbow to slip an arm around his waist, pressing him into her side (and he didn’t want to think about how natural it felt, how some part of him seemed to _fit_ there) as her voice murmured, softer and kinder than he’d ever heard it, _“Hold on.”_

Darkness swept them up on night-black wings, the wind tearing at them as the ground fell away beneath his feet and the world _vanished,_ leaving only Winry—and he hated her in that moment, hated her more than he’d ever hated himself—

The darkness vanished, and the world returned on a breeze that smelled of jasmine and honeysuckle. Stars filtered through the great marble pillars of a palace unlike any he’d ever heard about, without any walls beyond those separating seating and dining and work areas. Beyond whatever magic keeping the palace warm were shimmering, snowcapped peaks that seemed to scrape the sky.

There was no shouting, no screaming—nothing but starlight and moonstone and wide-open warmth.

It was the most exquisite place Ed had ever seen.

And behind him, he heard Winry say softly, “Welcome to the Night Court.”

**Author's Note:**

> these are SO MUCH FUN to do, i love writing winry all dark and mysterious and alluring lmao. even if it's not entirely accurate, but goddamnit i'm enjoying every second of it. i hope you guys are, too! leave a comment or a kudos if you enjoyed it, and if you have read the books, leave some suggestions for scenes i should do next! stay safe <3 <3 <3


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